War Waits

Like peeping Children down some distant lane,
What time with pealing pomp and pageantry
The Battle in its bravery blazons by,
We peered into the passing world of War —
Its crowning Heaven a-glow with starry hopes —
Its crowded Hell of red and writhing pain;

With hearts that ached or burned, as kindled cheeks
Flamed up in reddening shame, or bloom of pride,
And told the story as the pictures rose.

How England swooned beneath the kiss of Peace,
And languished in her long voluptuous dream,
While weed-like creatures crept along her path.

Where leapt of old proud waves of glorious life,
The sluggish channels choked with golden sand.

The hills of light rose shining far away,
Where she should stand and touch the hem of Heaven;

But, day by day she darkened deeper down.

The cold, grim shadow stretcht o'er half the earth,
Came freezing round her watchfire's dying flame,
While spirit-finger-pointings signalled her,
And spirit-rustlings stirred the air in vain.

A tearless anguish flamed from Poland's eyes
When the red Deluge closed above her head:
Sodden with suffering and unwept tears,
The heart of Hungary pled in silence stern:
Poor Italy lay in her guarded grave,
tier life all crouching in one listening sense,
To catch aught stirring in the upper world:
Out of the North the brute Colossus strode,
With grimly solemn pace, proud in the might
That moves not but to crush, and terribly towered
Its growing shape thro' Battle's bloody gap
Where Nations fell; and like a Cyclop's eye
Fts one idea lit it to the prey:
While pale Expediency paltered for
Our peaceful chance of being eaten last.

And England slumbered in the lap of Peace,
Beneath her grand old Oak, which, hale and strong,
Rode down the storm, and wrestled with the winds,
To rise in pomp of bloom, and paean of song,
Green with the sap of many hundred springs;
And tossed its giant arms in wanton life,
Like Victory smiling in the sun of Glory.
She saw not how the worms ate out its heart.
Life deftly masks the hiding-place of death;
And Ruin leads his Bride in a garland green
For sacrifice. So England slept in peace.
And in the glamour of her dream she saw
Brave fancies foot it holding Freedom's pall,
Waving their funeral links for bridal lights.

Came Nemesis, her lightnings stabbed the dark,
To show the way, and startled England woke!
Behold the glorious creature leaping from
Delilah's lap, to the battle-chariot,
Like Sternness stript for strife. Grim-wooing War
Mirrors his terrible beauty in her face;

On fire to bring the death-strokes hand to hand.

Her heart is dancing to a loftier tune;

For God hath called His Chosen once again,
And the Old Guard of Freedom takes the field.

Rejoicing in the glory of her strength,
Like some proud cataract she shouts for the strife,
And hurls her hurrying waves of valour down.

The glorious shudder of intrepid blood
Hurtles through all her veins, and Victory's voice
Cries from the inmost oracle of her souL
Her swift avenging armaments shall flame
O'er land and sea, sublime as when of old
With a colossal calm she rode the waves
Of War, that heaved magnificent in storm.

The noble prophecy of ripened age
Was on her youthful brow; fulfilment comes.

She lifts the Ark of Freedom in her arms,
Safe through the deluge of a warring world.